


There’s a Shakespeare Quote for That

by Wiggins



Series: Experimenting With New Ingredients: OC-centric Potterverse Stories [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Creature Fic, Creature Harry Potter, Creature Inheritance, Gen, Good Dudley Dursley, Good Dursley Family, Good Petunia Dursley, Lamiae, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Nice Dursley Family, Nice Petunia Dursley, Nice Vernon Dursley, Original Character-centric, POV Third Person, Parselmouths, Parseltongue, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-01 23:57:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13306059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wiggins/pseuds/Wiggins
Summary: Dianella Lily Dursley was born on August 1st, 1978.This was, on the whole, something of a surprise.After all, her parents, Vernon and Petunia Dursley, had married only eight months prior.  They had not, in fact, ‘jumped the gun’ as the unladylike ladies and uncouth gentlemen of Harthdown Court supposed.  Dianella’s birth was premature and as such she spent the first few months of her life in hospital.  By the time she was released, early on the morning of November 13th, 1978, her parents had moved to a smaller, kinder neighborhood, her father had earned the third in a series of promotions that would allow him to support his growing family in the style he’d always dreamed, and her mother had reconciled with her estranged sister.This was, in some respects, even more surprising than Dianella’s birth.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This idea popped into my head fully formed this morning. Extensive timeline checking indicates that it actually fits pretty well. Additionally, it gives me a chance to faff about with friendly!Dursleys and squib!Evans and a few other aspects of the magical world I'm not mucking with in my other HP story.

Dianella Lily Dursley was born on August 1st, 1978.

This was, on the whole, something of a surprise. After all, her parents, Vernon and Petunia Dursley, had married only eight months prior. They had not, in fact, ‘jumped the gun’ as the unladylike ladies and uncouth gentlemen of Harthdown Court supposed. Dianella’s birth was premature and as such she spent the first few months of her life in hospital. By the time she was released, early on the morning of November 13th, 1978, her parents had moved to a smaller, kinder neighborhood, her father had earned the third in a series of promotions that would allow him to support his growing family in the style he’d always dreamed, and her mother had reconciled with her estranged sister.

This was, in some respects, even more surprising than Dianella’s birth.

In one world, a worse world, Petunia Dursley nee Evans would spend the first three years of her marriage trying and failing to have a child. In this other world, she would experience the heartache of miscarriage, the loss of a child deeply and desperately wanted. She would birth her first and only child in June of 1981, and soon after an extended convalescence would receive notice that her younger sister, she of the charmed life, had experienced similar joy. It would be proof, yet again, that for Lily everything would always come more easily and quickly, and with less visible strife. It would be salt in a ragged wound, and it would cement the bitterness Petunia carried into a weight that would dog her for the rest of her days.

But in this world, Petunia’s marriage bore fruit swiftly, if not easily. The pregnancy was difficult and the expectant mother was prescribed bed rest scant weeks before the end of her second trimester. In this world, Petunia’s mother owled Lily and between them they set up a schedule of daily check-ins. The visits started with tight faces and terse words but over time things smoothed over. Not all wounds, poorly healed if that, were reopened in order that they might heal properly, but a reluctant sort of ceasefire was reached.

It carried through even after the difficult delivery and even harder hospital stay. Lily was a frequent visitor to little Dianella’s room, the ease of transportation she enjoyed as a witch making it simple to slip away at least twice a week for brief visits. Her regularly unscheduled appearances were enough to inoculate Vernon against the eccentricities of witches and wizards, though he could never quite bring himself to approve of it all. For the duration of his life, Vernon would regard magic with a shake of his head and a faint frown, calling it a “funny business.”

But in this world, he would say it with weary incomprehension, not spiteful derision.

By the spring of 1979, Vernon had unbent enough to accompany his wife and daughter to the wedding of his sister-in-law. The ceremony was extravagant in ways that only a magical event planner could achieve. Vernon did not approve, though he later agreed with his wife that the catering was excellent. They arrived on time and left quite early, but they came and, to Lily, that was all that mattered.

Visits between the Dursley and Potter households after the wedding were regular, if infrequent. The war was heating up and the last thing Lily Potter wanted to do was draw the attention of the Dark Lord to her sister’s small family. Reluctantly, Vernon Dursley accepted that owls were to be a part of his life for the foreseeable future and had an appropriate perch built in the shade of one of the trees in the backyard. It was by owl that Petunia communicated the news of her second pregnancy and it was by owl that Lily reciprocated with news of her own expected child. In this world, the younger woman asked advice of the elder, looking to her big sister for assistance and support, and something fractured and aching in Petunia Dursley’s heart at last began to mend.

The Prophecy changed everything in this world, as it did in that other place.

Lily sent word, explaining what she could of the danger, but instructing Petunia to only contact her in extremis. It was through this channel that Petunia informed her sister of their mother’s passing in the spring of 1980. Lily, trapped behind wards and walls, could not attend the funeral. Instead she sent a bouquet of flowers, charmed for longevity, to be planted at the gravesite. Petunia, well versed in the languages of flowers, understood the sorrow, the regret, the love and the heartache being conveyed. She stood strong, planted the flowers as instructed, and did not begrudge her sister the lack of attendance.

Petunia sent only one other missive during that year: a brief note and a picture of Dianella holding baby Dudley.

Lily responded with a charmed silver rattle and, a little over a month later, sent the third and final letter Petunia would receive from behind the wards of Godric’s Hollow. This letter contained the birth announcement of one Harry James Potter, a picture, and a baby doll – the last a birthday present for Dianella, who came so close to sharing a natal day with her cousin.

The silence from her sister wore on Petunia. Happily, she had other things to occupy her days: two beautiful children, deeply longed for and earnestly cherished. Dianella, who had the best of the Evans and Dursley genes combined in looks, while in temperament she took after her maternal grandmother: quiet, but crafty, little, but fierce. Dudley, who was as bright and boisterous as his sister was seemingly shy and retiring, was still a bit too young to be truly set. In looks, he took after the more solid Dursleys, though his coloring was all Evans. In that other world, as an only child and the sole focus of an overwhelming amount of love and attention, Dudley would have been doomed to be spoilt. In this world, the love was split, though by no means lesser. With slightly better perspective and a less grasping, desperate sort of affection, the Dursleys were indulgent parents, but not unreasonably so.

In this world, when Petunia spoke of her ‘bohemian’ sister to the fellow housewives of Privet Drive, it was with affection, not scorn. There was love there, and while it might be clouded by might-have-beens and the odd regret, it ran deep and true. This made the revelations of the morning of November 2nd, 1981, all the more devastating. Lily was dead, and James with her, little Harry left orphaned and sleeping on the doorstep.

When Dianella found Petunia weeping over a letter and a sleepy toddler, early that morning, her first thought was not worry over her mother or curiosity over the strange child. When Dianella tip-toed over to the basket and lifted the blanket, peering down at a face with heavy-lidded green eyes near-identical to her own, her very first thought was:

_So, **that’s** what a Horcrux looks like. The movies didn’t do it justice._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided that the tropey thing I'm going to explore in the HP-verse is going to be CREATURE stuff. Ye olde 'Harry has a Creature inheritance and it means he's part of a wider Creature world' trope, but with added 'oh, yeah, and his cousin is also a Creature because it was inherited through the maternal line.' Petunia and Dudley will also exhibit elements of Creature, but they will be very MINOR elements.

Petunia jerked a little in her chair at the sight of her daughter.  “Nell-“

“He looks like _my_ baby,” Dianella said softly. The child in the basket did, in fact, look strikingly similar to the doll that she had received a little over a year ago. The doll that was her most precious possession and was, even now, lying in her bed, tucked in carefully and resting up against her pillow. She wasn’t sure if it was magic or coincidence, but she never had bad dreams when she slept with the baby doll close at hand.

Petunia sniffed once, sat up ramrod straight and reached for a tissue. “He’s not a doll, Nell,” she said as she set about patting her face dry. The tissue was working wonders on the tear-tracks but her eyes and cheeks were still red, Petunia Dursley did not have the gift of being an attractive crier. “That’s your _cousin_ , Harry,” she explained raggedly. “He – he’s come to live with us. Why don’t you go check on your brother and I’ll-“

“Hello, Harry,” Dianella murmured, reaching out and laying her hand against the baby’s soft cheek. “I’m your cousin.”

He blinked his bright green eyes at her and sighed softly before smacking his lips and going right back to sleep.

She tucked the blanket back around him, much like she did for her doll, and then turned back to her mother. “Are we keeping him?”

“…Yes, darling.”

“Can he be _my_ baby?”

“I – what?”

Dianella smiled sweetly. “Dudley is yours and dad's, can Harry be mine?”

“Well, he’s your cousin-“

“So he’s mine,” she said, nodding and turning back to the child as if that was the end of it.

Petunia huffed, but did not say anything to contradict her precious, _precocious_ , child. Dianella so rarely asked for anything that it was difficult to deny her when she did, and she was smiling down at Harry with such warmth, so obviously pleased, that Petunia left her to it. She sighed and rose to her feet. “Keep an eye on Harry, Nell, I’m going to check on your brother…and speak with your father.”

“Yes, mummy.”

* * *

Dianella waited until her she heard her mother’s footsteps on the stairs before flopping down on the floor in front of the basket. “It’s not like the movies,” she confided to the sleeping child. She watched him, avidly drinking in the sight of the main character of her favorite film series while she ticked off differences on her tiny fingers: “I’m here, the Dursleys are decent, you’re-“ she squinted at him, then hazarded a, “ _definitely_ not white... That might be a problem for daddy, I dunno. He likes to yell at the telly and talk about 'shiftless reprobates' but he's pretty liberal with the term.”

She sighed gustily and reached out to stroke a gentle hand over the boy’s brow, taking pains to avoid the livid red mark that traced from his hairline to the outside of his right eye. It really did look like lightning. The scar spread thin streamers across a third of the kid’s forehead and over into his hair by his temple. It was not the kind of mark that could be covered up easily.

There was a buzz in her skin just from being near Harry. It was probably excitement. Dianella _knew_ this story. She _loved_ this story. Now, she would get to _live_ the story. Sure, there would be danger, but most of the really bad stuff would be off in the magical world. Right here, on Privet Drive, she and her family would be safe – except for that whole Dementor thing in fifth year...and going into hiding in seventh…

They’d be safe _enough_ ; she didn’t need to worry about it.

She could focus on worrying about _Harry_.

“I’ll protect you,” she promised fiercely, meaning it with every fiber of her being. “I’ll be the best cousin-slash-big-sister-figure that there _ever was_.”

Miles away, a silver instrument on a floating shelf hummed briefly, and then began to spin.

* * *

The addition of one Harry James Potter to the household located at #4, Privet Drive, was not without its bumps. Vernon Dursley did not appreciate the unexpected expansion of his peaceful, _perfect_ , household. Harry himself had more than a few protests to voice, owing to his confusion about the abrupt change in his own well-ordered, tidy schedule. Petunia focused on soothing her husband's temper, while little Dianella took on the task of seeing to her cousin's worst tantrums.

Dudley Dursley had no opinion on the matter, save that he was quite happy to cry when others were crying, and yell when others were yelling.

Things at #4 did not resolve themselves into anything approaching a routine until well into December.

Eventually Dudley and Harry settled into their shared bedroom, enjoying numerous visits and sleepovers from Dianella, who was rapidly becoming proficient at sneaking out of her own room. Vernon resigned himself to clothing, feeding, and caring for his nephew. Petunia mourned the loss of her sister, the could-have-saids, and the might-have-beens. She added Harry to her schedule, and found that looking into his green eyes did not pain her so much as she had supposed it might. It helped that she had practice loving eyes like that, first with her sister and then with her own child.

Dianella had done everything she could to ease the transition. She sat with Harry when he was sad, often holding him and clucking at him while her mother calmed Dudley. She murmured stories to both boys, what snatches she could remember of tales she had loved in another life, up to and including some of Harry’s own adventures. She was as helpful as she could be, in every instance where it might be required. She visibly adored Harry as often as possible and in her father’s line of sight if it could be managed.

It was exhausting, but ultimately rewarding.

Harry and Dudley both thrived under her attention. Petunia was a loving mother, a doting one even, but Dianella could focus on loving them without worrying over the future. She didn't have to fret too much about teaching them manners or concern herself over their developmental benchmarks. She could adore them with impunity, enjoy them simply because they were hers and she was theirs. She’d never had little siblings before, and while she kept expecting it to, the novelty had not worn off.

Perhaps that was because there was something extra, something _special_ about Harry. The buzz in her skin when she was in close proximity to him never quite went away and, at first, she attributed it to his magic. Soon, she noticed that something similar, though not _quite_ as strong, fizzed around her when she hugged her mother and brother. It had taken Harry’s stronger buzz for her to recognize their weaker fizzle. She spent some time contemplating the implications of this seeming ‘extra sense.’

Was _it_ magic?

Was _she_ magic?

If the answers to either of those questions were _yes_ , what would that mean?

What would it mean for _her_?

What would it mean for her _family_?

Dianella had no idea, and no means to test her tentative theory. She resolved to put it out of her head for now and go on with her life. If she was magic, she’d find out soon enough. For now, she had other things to worry about. Christmas was fast approaching, and with it, Marjorie Dursley’s yearly visit.

 _This_ , Dianella thought, _might be tricky._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious: Dianella's about 3.5 in this chapter. Yes, she's advanced for her age. No, the Dursleys don't necessarily realize how much yet. Partially because she's hiding it a bit and partially because she's their firstborn and they don't have a lot of experience with children.

Marge’s visits were a point of strife in the Dursley household. Add in little Harry and there was a recipe for disaster. Dianella was not entirely sure where or when it had started, but she got the sense that Marge did not entirely _approve_ of Petunia, though it wasn’t clear why. It came to her in half-heard, hushed conversations and terse exchanges between her father and mother. Their ability to talk _around_ unpleasant things without directly addressing them was absolutely maddening. It didn’t help that she was too young, too little, to really pick up on the nuances of the adult conversations.

She might have memories, more like fleeting visions, of her past life, but her brain had only developed so far. This was largely why she had such difficulty remembering her past interactions with Marge. Petunia’s pregnancy and related illness, as well as Marge’s own travels had prevented the woman from visiting for almost two years. The most Dianella could recall of her aunt was ‘loud’ and ‘big’ and ‘accompanied by a dog.’ The dog had been of much interest to her.

She resolved to stay out of her Aunt Marge’s way, and keep Harry with her.

This would be made much easier by the fact that Harry appeared to adore her every bit as much as she did him. When he was awake and not distracted playing with Dudley, or being fed by Petunia, he would look for her. If she was not in the room, and he could manage to get to the floor, he would crawl with unerring accuracy to whatever part of the house she was in. This was how they discovered his remarkable aptitude for stairs. Dianella was not often far from her brother or cousin, so it took her some time to realize exactly what Harry was doing.

It took even longer for her to realize that there was something a little _off_ about the way he was doing it.

Harry could _always_ find her. No matter where she was, no matter how quiet she was being or how many doors or floors were between them. She felt a little bad when she tested it because the longer he had to look the more upset he was by the time he reached her, and Dianella could not bear to see tears dampening those big green eyes. His reaction on finding her was to curl as near to her as she’d allow him to be, which generally meant ‘on her lap,’ until he had received sufficient cuddles to compensate for the separation.

Once she had determined that Harry’s Dianella-radar was unerring, she ceased testing it. She was curious to discover whether his ability to sense someone extended to his aunt, younger cousin, and maybe even his uncle. Unfortunately, she was the only one he would look for during those impromptu games of hide and seek. For now, she’d let it be. Dianella was happy that Harry was content to be in her company, it would make keeping him out of Aunt Marge’s way far easier.

At last, the day came. The Dursley household was in uproar, Petunia snapping out last-minute instructions to her thoroughly cowed husband while Dianella entertained the toddlers. The lady of the house was focused on making everything as near to perfect as human hands could manage. Especially since _that dog_ would be coming as well. Pets were a four-letter word in the Dursley household, which made Dianella desperately curious how Marge had managed to wrangle her ‘ridiculously named’ dog an invite as well. Clean, orderly, tidy and _tasty_ were the watchwords for the holiday. In spite of four-pawed invasion, Petunia’s home would conform to her desires or _she would know why_.

Dianella privately thought that her mother on a tear was one of the more frightening things she’d seen in this or her past life. Granted, she couldn’t remember all that much of her past, but what little there was had never been so frantic, frenetic, and fretful as _this_. She did her best to soothe her mother by doing her best to keep both Dudley and Harry from slipping underfoot. To that end, she led them away from the kitchen and parlor and into the playroom, and proceeded to act out a heavily edited version of what she could remember of ‘Game of Thrones’ with her dolls.

When Vernon bellowed an enthusiastic greeting to Marge, all three children flinched. Harry’s lip quivered, a certain prelude to tears, and Dudley watched his cousin carefully, always happy to join in if a ruckus might be made. Dianella hastily continued with the story in a quiet murmur. She could hear conversation and footsteps coming their way, but the calmer she kept the boys, the less likely they’d react poorly when Marge eventually-

“Here they are!” she cried as she stomped into the room, every bit as boisterously loud as her brother. The Colonel, an older bulldog well past breeding years, followed sedately at her heels. He was the current favorite and a great sausage of a dog, rendered docile by years of indulgence.

Dianella adored him on sight. “H’lo, Auntie,” she said quietly, immediately making a beeline for the dog and dragging Harry with her. She carefully grasped the boy's wrist and held his hand out, palm flat, until the Colonel could sniff and whuffle faint approval for pets, and then she guided him to the dog’s ears and chin.

“So, this is the boy, then?” Marge sniffed, disapproval clear.

“He’s my cousin,” Dianella said, only after she spoke did it occur to her that the question was rhetorical.

“Yes, well, he looks it,” she said. It was clearly not meant to be a flattering comparison.

“Now, Marge-“ Vernon huffed.

“And _here’s_ my little nephew! How are you, Dudley-my-dear?” she positively _cooed_ , swooping down upon the unsuspecting toddler. She snatched him up into her arms and pressed big smacking kisses on each of his chubby cheeks.

Dudley was clearly uncertain what to make of this, and settled on scowling.

Marge chortled. “He’s got dad’s frown, he does. What a little man!”

“Yes-“

“Come on then,” she said, sharp again as she directed her words to the other two children and the dog. “You lot can keep me company while I drink my tea. I want to hear _all_ the new developments.”

Judging by her father’s ruddy cheeks and clenched jaw, Dianella was sure she wasn’t the only one who thought that that sounded more like an invitation to battle than an opportunity to catch up. When she and Harry were pulled into her Vernon’s arms she made a point of bussing a kiss over her father’s cheek.

“Love you, da.”

He carefully pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Best not keep your mother waiting, Nell.”

Harry watched it all with wide green eyes.

Judging by Petunia’s pinched expression on their entrance to the kitchen, even ten seconds alone with her sister-in-law was too much. The Colonel had curled under the table, in prime scrap position, and was unlikely to move before dinner. Meanwhile Marge had settled at the table, scooted Dudley’s high-chair over so it was beside her and was currently in the process of asking after Harry’s family.

“He’s got _no other_ relatives?”

“As far as I’m aware, no. We are the last.” There was a wealth of stifled grief in that sentence, and Dianella ached for her mother.

Marge harrumphed, clearly unsatisfied. “I don’t know about this. What sort were his parents? Your sister _seemed_ a good girl when I met her, quiet and flimsy maybe, but, well-“ she gave Harry a pointed head-to-toe look. “It’s clear she fell in with a bad crowd.”

Petunia pursed her lips and said nothing.

“I suppose he _looks_ like your sister, at least. _Dianella_ does as well.” She scoffed, “ _Dianella Lily_ , what a name. Frippery! Nothing like a proper, solid, _Dursley_ name. Not like little Dudley, here. Dudley Vernon Dursley, now _that’s_ a proper name.”

Privately, while she agreed that it was a ridiculously girly name, that didn’t mean Dianella didn’t _like_ it. She _definitely_ didn’t appreciate anyone _insulting_ her name, or putting _that look_ on her mother’s face.

“It’s like a show name,” Dianella piped up, hands fisting in her father’s shirt as she caught everyone’s attention.

“What was that? Speak up, girl, I’ll not have a mumbling Dursley!”

“M’name, it’s like a show name. Like Colonel!” She enunciated carefully, not used to speaking so much or so clearly in the presence of adults, even her parents. “Colonel’s name is Colonel Bedivere Buckingham, IV, but you _call_ him Colonel. My name is Dianella Lily Dursley, but mum and da call me ‘Nell.’ Fancy name for show, to be imp-imp-“

“Impressive, darling?”

“Thanks, mum. Fancy name for show, to be _impressive_ , short name for private.”

Marge’s eyebrows had gone up and her mouth dropped open. “You remember all that? You remember the Colonel’s name?”

“I like dogs,” Dianella said softly, taking pains not to _mumble_.

“Well. I suppose ‘Nell’ isn’t too bad,” Marge allowed, sipping at her tea.

Petunia’s eyes went so wide they looked like they were threatening to escape her skull.

“Better check that roast, something smells of scorch.”

* * *

The rest of Aunt Marge’s visit was a bit easier. Now that Marge knew that there was another dog-lover in the house, she focused on Dianella a little more, talking about proper training and care, explaining her job and why she’d chosen it. It was interesting to Dianella, so she asked more questions and listened raptly to the answers. She was content to listen and learn, and Harry was content to be in her company. What with one thing and another, Marge spent far more time with Harry than anyone had planned.

“He’s well-behaved, I suppose,” Marge said of him before her departure, face drawn into stiff lines. “Quiet, at least.”

“Dianella’s very good with him,” Vernon said.

“Good with children and animals, I see. Bit too sweet, though. Needs more vinegar in her.”

“She’s young.”

Marge snorted, but did not take up further argument.

* * *

Overall, the holiday was fraught, but not as frightful as Dianella had feared. She felt tentatively hopeful: she had faced what felt like the first challenge in her new life. She had stood strong against disapproval and even, she thought, won her aunt over a bit to her’s and Harry’s side. Life at Privet Drive was settling back into what she could recognize as the new equilibrium. Vernon and Petunia took care of their little family the best they could, and if it was a little harder for them to include Harry in some of their plans, it they had to try a little more, budget a bit more carefully, they did what they needed to.

Family was important, and - whatever else he might be, now or in the future - Harry was family.


End file.
